


Whose Idea Was This?

by Jadzia7667



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-04
Updated: 2005-11-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10064174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia7667/pseuds/Jadzia7667
Summary: Harry receives a most disturbing letter on his seventeenth birthday.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Title: Whose Idea Was This?  
Pairing: Snarry  
Rating: G  
Warnings: Not really  
Disclaimer: JKR owns all, I own nothing. If I did, there’d be way more homoerotic subtext in the books. JKR has all the blinkin’ money in the world, what would she possibly want with my paltry little accounts? I may have enough put by to buy a cup of Caramel Mocha Latte at Starbucks…maybe. In other words, one cannot get blood from a turnip, or damages from moi. Besides, they’re not damaged. They’re debauched and that’s entirely different, really.

A/N: No idea where this came from; none. It’s not like I read fanfic or anything – lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Harry spoke to Albus Dumbledore with a gulp in his voice, his bravado firmly cloaking him. It was poor protection, but better than nothing. “I have no idea why you would want to meet with me and Professor Snape privately. It cannot possibly be about Marriage Contract HS1981.” 

He smirked uncomfortably. “Clever naming system they have for those things. It’s absurd. I’ve blocked it completely from my mind. I tried to Obliviate myself, but evidently that’s not a curse that one can self inflict.”

Was that his imagination or did he hear a quick sharp bark of laughter from his Potions Professor? Never mind. He gamely continued, trying desperately to keep his composure. “I live now in the land of denial. The letter I got was obviously someone’s idea of a sick joke. I didn’t find it particularly funny, Sir.” He looked around, desperate for a distraction.

Harry had received a letter on his seventeenth birthday, but really, it had to be someone’s horrendously terrible idea of a joke. It had said that he was betrothed, since birth, to one Severus Snape, his least favorite teacher. Moreover, the letter had the gall to state that his parents had done this to him willingly. Snape hated Harry and Harry hated Snape; it was the way of the world. Therefore, this ridiculous contract wasn’t a joke with any sort of actual humor attached to it. 

Harry chanced a glance at the older man, and caught inky eyes locked on him, raking his face and form intently. They weren’t cold at all, Harry thought dazedly, not cold and empty at all. Harry didn’t want to speculate on what those eyes were filled with. Not now. He might faint. He shuddered involuntarily.

“Professor Dumbledore? Could I please have a glass of fire whisky?” Albus chuckled gently and motioned for him to pour himself one. He went to the drinks cart, poured himself a generous glassful, and turned to the other two men, eyebrow raised. They both nodded. He poured a shot for the Headmaster and a double for the Professor. They could both use it, he knew.

He drank deeply and stared at the tall dark and dour man he was doomed to be bound to for life. He then raised his eyes skyward, his tone plaintive. “Why is my life doomed to be ruled by Pan, the God of Mischief?”

That did it. Severus Snape threw his head back and laughed. The sound was long and loud, booming in Harry’s head. It was also sort of…sexy. Harry pushed that thought away. He most certainly did NOT find this man sexy in any way. 

Albus’ voice was kind when he spoke. “It’s not a joke, Harry. Your life is not ruled, particularly, by Pan. I know; I asked him. I admit this is rather unusual.”

Harry snorted. “Unusual? It’s positively surreal and you know it. I cannot believe my parents agreed to this. I cannot believe Professor Snape agreed to this. The man hates me, Headmaster, you know he does.”

Severus’ quiet voice interrupted the teen’s tirade. “Harry, I assure you, I do not hate you.”

Harry snorted again. “Oh. Right. That’s why your favorite pet name for me is ‘insolent brat’. Makes perfect sense, really. You’ve clearly been hiding a depthless passion for me all these years, since I’m so utterly irresistible and all.” His lips twisted into a mocking smile, although the mockery was clearly directed at himself.

Severus cleared his throat. “Ah…not quite that long. Just since the end of your fifth year. After the Pensieve incident, and our subsequent conversation. Your apology…rather startled me. At that point, I began to respect you. It grew from there. I learned to admire you, Harry. It’s been quite disturbing, having such feelings for a student.”

What? Was the man trying to tell him he was actually in love with him, Harry Potter? Had the world ended, then? Oh my Gods, this was so wrong on so many levels. He just couldn’t get his mind around it. He goggled at the older man, surprise and doubt clearly written all over his face. It was all too much, he simply couldn’t deal with any more today. As he slid to the floor, he murmured, “I respect you too, Professor, but this is quite an extreme way to express it, don’t you think?”

He slipped into a dead faint, spilling fire whiskey everywhere. When he fought his way back to consciousness a few minutes later, endless black eyes were staring at him. “Are you all right, Harry?”

“No, I am not all right. Thank you for asking. I have just discovered I am betrothed to my Potions Professor. A man who, according to all the evidence, hates me; a man I am not particularly interested in being married to. It’s a bit much to take in.” He took a deep breath and reached for more whiskey.

“At first, I honestly thought it was a joke. Then I compared the signatures on the contract to the signatures on the letters I have from my parents. Sirius gave them to me awhile ago; he’d found them when he was clearing out his house. The signatures matched. Then I tried to Obliviate myself. It didn’t work. I am decidedly NOT ALL RIGHT!” 

He thought for a moment, then added. “Why are you calling me Harry? You never have, not ever. It’s very odd. I think I might like it, and that is the very oddest thing of all.”

Snape, no…Severus, spoke gently. “I understand your confusion, Harry. I’m sure you have many questions, and we’ll discuss them when you feel ready. Be assured I will not force you into anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Harry snorted. “This whole situation makes me uncomfortable. Besides, I have a boyfriend. He’s going to be ever so thrilled with THIS bit of news.” Harry climbed to his feet and threw himself into an armchair. “What the bloody hell is Charlie going to think of all this? Gods know we’re not in love, but still…”

It was Snape’s turn to goggle. “Harry? You have a…romantic partner? He’s male? I had no idea.”

Harry snorted again. “Of course he’s male. Girls are…wet. I found that out a few years ago, when I thought I had a crush on Cho Chang. Turns out it was just long dark hair that I was attracted to.” He gulped, realizing that could be taken the wrong way entirely.

Severus arched a brow. “Oh, really? So you’re attracted to long dark hair on a man?” His eyes filled with warmth. Maybe this wouldn’t be so awkward after all.

Harry looked at the floor. “On some men, yes. It takes a bit more than hair to hold my interest, though. Charlie Weasley, if you’ll recall, has red hair.” 

Severus coughed. On the other hand, maybe it would be the living hell he’d originally envisioned. “I shall endevour not to revolt you too much, Mr. Potter.”

Harry snorted. “I’m Harry, all right? As long as we’re bound by this contract, I’m Harry. That whole ‘Mr. Potter’ thing doesn’t even intimidate me anymore. It hasn’t since second year. I have some questions about this whole custom, if you don’t mind. Arranged marriages died out in the muggle world long ago. Besides, you’re hardly revolting.”

He sat in a chair and took several deep breaths, trying to compose himself. Finally he spoke, resolutely addressing his questions to the Headmaster. “How long do we have to fulfill the terms of the contract?”

Albus spoke kindly again. All things considered, the boy was taking it rather well. “It must be done on or before your twenty first birthday. There is more than enough time to come to terms with everything.”

Harry snorted. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Perhaps it was because his life was particularly twisted. “Right, Headmaster. Of course. Do you know whose idea this was, exactly? Perhaps do you have a glimmer of a clue WHAT THEY WERE THINKING?” He lost control a bit at that last bit. 

Albus cleared his throat. “Actually, yes, Harry. I was there when the contract was signed. It was, in fact, my idea. You were betrothed to Professor Snape in order to keep you safe from Voldemort. We knew, when you were born, that Voldemort would be after you, because of the prophecy. We didn’t want him to be able to get to you. Betrothal seemed the simplest option. We acted out of concern for your best interests.”

“Please, Professor. I fail to see how this could be in anyone’s best interests, really.” Harry’s voice was irritated. He really hated being kept in the dark about his own life.

Harry turned annoyed green eyes on Snape. “And you. Please explain why you treated me like shite for so many years, knowing you’d end up married to me no matter what either of us actually wanted. Did you think that would be helpful?” He shook his head, utterly stunned and not a little frustrated. He didn’t get an answer from Snape; he’d expected that, though.

Harry’s voice was heavy. He was beginning to think he wasn’t going to be able to maneuver his way out of this mad scheme. “Headmaster, please explain to me why betrothal seemed to be the best option at the time. I don’t understand.”

Severus spoke instead. “Betrothal meant that I could not betray you, no matter what. Betrothal creates a bond between two people wherein they literally cannot hurt one another. Since I was spying on Voldemort, we had to be sure I had no way of betraying your whereabouts to him, however inadvertently.” 

He sat back and regarded the young man sternly. “My loyalties were never in question once the contract was signed. I would never have willingly betrayed you; the contract ensured that I would not be able to do so unwillingly, either.”

Harry stared, unable to form words. Finally, his brain sorted itself out a bit. “So…you don’t hate me, after all?”

Snape’s elegant mouth twisted into a sneer. It was a poor shadow of his customary sneer, as it lacked the necessary malice to make it fearsome; even so, Harry shrank from it. “Of course not, you idiot boy. You have driven me to distraction with your willful disregard for the rules and your utter lack of any sense of self preservation. You infuriate me beyond all reason; you have a brilliant mind, yet you refuse to apply yourself.” 

Snape was breathing heavily now, eyes on fire and face flushed. It was an attractive look for him, though Harry hazily. The razor blade voice was still slicing away at his senses; he tried to focus on it. “You are young and foolish. You frustrate me on a daily basis with your defiant attitude, your complete lack of attention to anything I have tried to teach you, and your opposition to any course of action deemed reasonable or appropriate.”

Snape’s voice grew softer, warm with…something. Harry didn’t want to speculate on just what that something might be. “You are the most talented Quidditch player I have ever had the pleasure to watch mount a broomstick. You have grown up into a most attractive young man. In four years or less, we will be married. There is no divorce in our world, Harry. We will be bound for life. I, for one, would prefer not to be miserable for my entire life.”

Harry spoke in measured tones. “Then release me from the contract. We’ll go our separate ways and nobody has to be miserable.”

Snape shook his head. “I cannot do that. Voldemort is still alive. He still attempts to plot your death at least once a day. He’s more obsessed with you than he is with dominating Britain. He’s quite unbalanced, really.” Snape chuckled darkly.

Harry huffed. “I can take care of myself. I’ve always beaten him back before.” He subsided into silence, thinking frantically.

He didn’t hate Professor Snape anymore, not really. It was more a habit than anything else. He didn’t realize that his eyes rested firmly on the older man as his thoughts attempted to sort themselves into some semblance of coherency. When he’d looked into Snape’s pensieve, he’d been appalled at what he’d seen. He’d wanted to beat his father and Sirius with a Quidditch bat. He’d apologized profoundly, without a trace of pity. He knew what it was like to be the butt of someone else’s cruelty. 

He murmured softly, “I don’t hate you.” He returned to his thoughts. After that, he’d found himself observing the other man covertly whenever he got the chance, and he’d come to respect his Professor, even to admire him. In Harry’s opinion, Snape had the dirtiest job in the world, spying on Voldemort. 

He managed to extract important information from Voldemort and the Death Eaters without ever giving up anything vital in return. Voldemort, for some reason, didn’t kill him for this, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Harry had seen the aftereffects of some of the meetings Snape had been called to; he returned to Hogwarts near unconsciousness, bruised and beaten and battered, more often than not.

Harry thought about the man’s intelligence and evident skill with Potions. He was incredibly focused when he was brewing. Harry loved to watch him in class, but would have died before saying so. Abruptly he sat up and took a large swallow of fire whiskey. Not hating the man was a far cry from being attracted to him. Slightly tipsy now, it seemed like a good idea to find out if they were attracted to one another.

He stood, swaying slightly, and advanced on his betrothed. He stopped when his knees were touching Snape’s. He set the glass down on the table and climbed onto Snape’s lap. The older man’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent that was uniquely Harry. Automatically, his arms came up and around the young man’s waist, preventing him from falling.

The two stared at each other for a good long while, not saying a word. Behind them, Albus had his wand out, just in case either of them decided to hex the other. Judging from the rising heat in the room, he thought with a suppressed chuckle, that wouldn’t be necessary anytime soon.

Harry repeated himself, softly. “I don’t hate you.” He took his glasses off and carefully set them to the side. He wound his arms around Snape’s neck, fingers sliding into the thick, dark hair there. Snape relaxed into the chair with a moan. 

Harry kept coming closer. Finally, an eternity later, he settled his lips on Severus’. For a moment, neither moved; they were both utterly shocked by how very good that simple touch felt. Then Harry’s lips were moving, tentatively at first. He rubbed his lips against Severus’ and groaned softly. His tongue came out to swipe across Severus’ bottom lip.

Severus’ arms tightened about the young man’s slim form and he held on for dear life. There was no oxygen left in the room at all, he thought dimly. His lips parted, allowing Harry’s tongue entrance. Heat flashed through his veins, warming every part of his body. In particular, he felt growing fire in the vicinity of his lap, where Harry was still wriggling restlessly. 

Harry’s hands were moving convulsively in his hair. Harry’s lips were dancing across his own. Harry’s tongue was plunging in and out of his mouth. Harry was making hungry, muffled, approving noises in the back of his throat. Severus’ own tongue finally came out, chasing Harry’s back into the hot moist cavern of his mouth. 

Severus began to make his own hungry, approving noises. He was purring, he thought with disbelief. He, Severus Snape, was purring under the onslaught of inexperienced kisses from this most beautiful young man. He took control then, deepening the kiss, exploring every part of Harry’s hot mouth. His hands began to move, caressing the boy from the nape of his neck to the waistband of his jeans.

He slid two fingers just below that maddening waistline and stroked the soft skin at the small of Harry’s back. Harry yelped into his mouth, most gratifyingly. Harry’s hands were moving down then, caressing his nape, sliding beneath the collar of his shirt to map his shoulders. The two men were very close to losing all control at that point; their lips were melted together as though they would never stop kissing.

As much as Severus loved kissing his betrothed, there were other things they could do. Severus intended to teach him everything. He looked forward to that formidable task as he’d never looked forward to anything else in his life.

A cleared throat and muffled sound of mirth had them breaking apart. Both faces flushed as they stared at each other. In unison, they breathed a single word.

“Wow.”

Albus was laughing outright now. “Indeed, my boys. Indeed. Perhaps at the wedding, you’ll be able to admit that this old man knew what he was doing.”

Severus pulled Harry closer, pressing him gently against his torso. Fingers idly stroked the young man’s hair. Harry buried his face in Severus’ neck, embarrassed at the ferocity of his response.

Severus’ next comment had them all laughing. “I think we shall suit, Albus, after all.”

Harry was nodding emphatically into Severus’ neck. He looked up, shot a grin at Albus and contributed his own thoughts. “If I’d known this was all I had to do to shut him up, I’d have tried it two years ago. Sir.”

Severus shot the boy a stern look, belied by the dancing amusement lighting his austere features.

“Mister Potter. There are many ways to ‘shut me up’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Harry smiled. “Good. Let’s get started on that, shall we?”

The End


End file.
